


All I want

by TeaHouseMoon



Series: The Vanilla Kinks series [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bottom Sherlock Holmes, Engagement, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Romance, Sherlock is a sop, Smut, Top John Watson, sex with feelings, there is a ring!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-03
Updated: 2015-11-03
Packaged: 2018-04-29 16:10:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5133944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeaHouseMoon/pseuds/TeaHouseMoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His fingers stand out, long, a bit knobbly but graceful, against the white of the fabric; he looks at the ring, there, on his ring finger. It twinkles a bit when he moves his hand; Sherlock's mouth curves up at the corners, he can't help but smile.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All I want

Sherlock lies in bed, later than his usual. Outside, the sky is grey, the air foggy; wrapped in their duvet, face half-buried in the soft, soft pillow, he feels cosy, and safe. He stretches an arm out on the mattress; his hand skims the sheet, rests on it - opens wide. His fingers stand out, long, a bit knobbly but graceful, against the white of the fabric; he looks at the ring, there, on his ring finger. It twinkles a bit when he moves his hand; Sherlock's mouth curves up at the corners, he can't help but smile, of a smile that takes his whole face, his cheeks pushing up and his eyes crinkling.

 

****

_"Oh!"_

_Molly's first reaction was an exhalation, followed by a near-sob, followed by hands wrapped together against a trembling lip and her eyes wet. She'd gone red in the cheeks soon after that, and her eyes had flown up to look at Sherlock's face._

_"You have a ring!"_

_Her comment hadn't been the most astute._

_"Yes, it would seem so, Molly", Sherlock hadn't found it in himself to be snappy with her - or at least, snappier than usual. In fact, he'd felt his mouth threatening a smile once again, so he'd directed glittering eyes back to the microscope his other hand was busy tuning and tried to focus on the specimen at hand._

_"Oh, Sherlock", Molly half-sobbed again, her face completely red now, but she was smiling. "You'll have a wedding! You and John!"_

_Had it been anyone else, Sherlock would have suspected mockery - incredulity at best - but this being Molly, he knew she was just processing the news. She was excited - and frankly, beginning to make a fool of herself, at this point. He contained his own smile between closed lips - no need to be over the top now, is there? -and cut her a sideways glance, not moving from his well calculated hunch over the microscope._

_"Yes. We will" ._

_He didn't trust his voice to say anything else. From the corner of his eye he saw Molly - still smiling, eyes still wet - blink and sigh; it looked like she wanted to give a little jump of joy, and hadn't he been busy at the microscope, she would have certainly hugged him._

 

 

****

 

Sherlock rolls over, lifts his hand above his head. With his other hand, he fixes the ring, centres it where it slanted slightly to the side as he slept. The index finger caresses the gold-silver band, lovingly.

The ring is exactly to Sherlock's taste. He doesn't know how John did it- he isn't overly observant, usually - but he was just spot on. The band is weighty but not heavy, wide enough to complement long fingers, but not chunky; it's smooth, and with the pad of his finger Sherlock polishes away imaginary dust as he strokes it, makes it gleam, and feels that it's warm because he's wearing it. The colourless moissanite stone is round, encased in the ring and hugged by both sides of the band, and it sparkles.

 

****

 

 

_"We're not here to tell him about this, John!", Sherlock protested, eyes wide as he looked at John disbelievingly. They were waiting to see Mycroft outside his office - a case had dropped into Sherlock's inbox that very morning and he'd left Barts - and a still speechless and giddy Molly - in a rush, nearly swept John off his feet from the flat in his haste to get to Mycroft and request the classified information he needed._

_"He'll find out soon enough. We may as well?", John asked gently. His voice left plenty of room for a rebuttal, and Sherlock found that the racing of his heart wasn't perhaps due to indignation but, rather, anticipation._

_When they entered the office, Anthea was arranging documents on to Mycroft's desk - the two muttering in hushed voices, Sherlock could make out references to directions, timings - and John's fingers gently coaxed Sherlock's left hand out of his pocket, in the open._

_"Here, love", he murmured, squeezing his hand once, then letting it hang alongside Sherlock's thigh, in plain view._

_When Mycroft cleared his throat as a signal for Anthea to leave, they knew he'd noticed._

_"I hope you're more serious about your endeavours this time, John, compared to your first attempt?"_

_"Mycroft!", Sherlock raised his voice, scandalised - but John shushed him._

_"No, no, you're right, Mycroft. Sherlock -" he turned towards him. "He's doing this to protect you. And I am, too"._

_Back to Mycroft; eyes sure; the posture of a soldier._

_"All I want, is to protect him. Mycroft, you know this. And 'my attempt', this time, is because I want to protect him for the rest of my life. It's all I want"._

_Sherlock looked down suddenly, because his heart was in his throat, his eyes were stinging, face burning. He wondered - had John planned for this? Had this been what he wanted to do, from the beginning? He felt faint, almost, and John's hand went to squeeze his again, steady and sure._

_"Your first attempt was rather ill-advised, Doctor Watson."_

_Mycroft was forcing his voice into a business-like tone, but it wavered, almost imperceptibly._

_John cleared his throat._

_"This time, it won't be"._

_Sherlock didn't dare look up - his wet eyes could betray him any time. But Mycroft's tone was final._

_"I know."_

 

****

 

**You've done so well. I'm impressed, John. SH**

****

**Are you still looking at the ring? Wow, I have impressed you indeed.**

 

Sherlock smiles. Picks up his phone again, almost wants to take a picture of the ring, remind John that it does really look good, he's not just gushing...  
His phone beeps with another text.

 

**Since I've been that good then....perhaps I should get a reward? ;-)**

 

Mischievous John, Sherlock thinks, smiling to himself - even as his cheeks heat up. He wishes he was bolder - if he were, he would undress, turn the phone on himself, take a picture of his naked skin; the curve of his throat, the plane of his abdomen - the ebony curls trailing down between his legs, like a path for John's hands. If he were bold, really bold, he'd film himself - arching back, flexing muscles, swollen lips, and nipples, and cock - and send it to John, for him to watch whenever he felt like.

Alas, though, he isn't yet as bold as he wants to be; so he just sends a text back.

**When you get home tonight, whatever you want. SH**

****

 

_"Marry me"._

_Sherlock froze suddenly. His hips stopped moving, even though he was just there, nearly there, god, but he forgot all of that and looked down at John, sitting underneath him as he straddled him._

_"Marry me. Marry me, Sherlock"._

_So he hadn't heard wrong. Wide eyed, Sherlock stared into John's blue and hazy irises, disbelieving. John smiled, and the hands on Sherlock's hips gripped and he bucked up into Sherlock's body, making him sob._

_"John...?"_

_"You've heard me, darling", John growled, low in his throat. His expression was bashful, his eyes going dark and half-lidded, like they always were when he was in the middle of having sex._

_Sherlock's heart threatened to beat right out of his chest; he felt so aware of his ribs, his lungs, his breaths. He blinked, and then licked his dry, dry lips. John leant up, offering his own bitten lips for another kiss and Sherlock complied, kissing him deeply, desperately, as if John's mouth was life itself. Feet planted on the mattress underneath and behind Sherlock, John used the leverage to snap his hips up, again, into Sherlock, again, and again. Sherlock cried out; his head was buzzing, he felt overwhelmed. He felt John inside him; more than any other time John was inside him, right now, so deeply, as if they were about to just fuse together._

_"Will you...? Will you marry me?", John asked._

_Sherlock closed his eyes, opened them again. He looked into John's eyes; his hips had quietened now._

_"Yes", he cried on John's mouth. "Yes. Yes, of course I'll marry you"._

_John's smile was so bright that it lit up a sparkle deep within Sherlock's core. It burned; Sherlock felt his whole body tense, and wrap around John's, squeeze it from the inside. His own hips started moving this time - yes, yes, of course I will - and he rode a pleasure that threatened to tear him apart it was so intense, breathed into John's mouth, held onto his shoulders; brought them both on the brink of orgasm, and then over._

 

****

 

"I hadn't planned on asking you like that", John says later that night, when they're both on the couch, in front of the telly. Sherlock snaps out of his reverie - how did John know what he had been thinking of? - and folds his hands on his lap to stop his fingers from caressing the ring, _again_.

"Oh, really?", he offers, self-conscious because he's been caught daydreaming, once again.

"Well, no." John sits up a bit, stretches an arm out over the back of the couch, behind Sherlock's head. "I was planning on something more, traditional? Dinner, drinks, a walk by the river, I don't know..."

"Who cares about traditional??", Sherlock snaps, waving a hand dismissively, looking away.

John runs two fingers through the curls on Sherlock's nape; lets one of them wrap around his index finger, the hair satin and warm against skin.

"No, you're right, who cares. But", he twirls the curl, lets it unravel. Sits up a bit more so he can murmur closer to Sherlock. "What are you going to say when our friends ask how I proposed? Hmmm?"

Sherlock's cheeks colour immediately; John chuckles. He's right - not the most traditional, family-friendly marriage proposal story ever, really. Perhaps he should hope his mother doesn't think to ask, at all; then he thinks of Lestrade, Anderson, _Donovan_...

"Do you know what", Sherlock says as John leans over to steal a kiss, and then another, then another, "I think I'll tell them exactly the truth".

His eyes glint in mischief; John laughs on his mouth.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Please please leave me a comment if you liked this story! x


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